


The Great Body Swap AU

by MacMonkey



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Francesco and Guglielmo's bad childhood, Jacobo is in this and he sucks :(, Lorenzo and Lucrezia Donati are best friends and everyone thinks that theyre having an affair, Lorenzo's lovelife is already going to be a mess in this with Francesco involved, Multi, OH timeline wise mama Lucrezia is still in Rome getting that sweet sweet marriage alliance, actual warnings:, ah ha. thats a change from canon oops, but i didnt want to toss Lucrezia aside SO she is just here watching this trashfire, its a body swap au!! and it's going to be a mess, ok i think that's it, she and Clarice will appear! Because I love them, swearing!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacMonkey/pseuds/MacMonkey
Summary: Giuliano falls asleep, and then somehow wakes up in the body of Francesco de' Pazzi. The same also happens in reverse. Cue the drama.Or: If you think I'm gonna pass up the chance to have Lorenzo ask Giuliano for advice on on how to woo Francesco, but Giuliano IS Francesco, you're crazy
Relationships: Bianca di Piero de' Medici/Guglielmo de' Pazzi, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	1. WHOSE BODY IS THIS

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pazzi Conspiracy Day!  
> (...by the time I'm posting it's almost 9 at night don't look at me)
> 
> Originally this was going to be a one shot, but I wanted it to be posted today more than that, so! Here we are. I've got a few chapters prewritten that I'll post after editing, and the whole story is already mapped out (it won't be very long).
> 
> This fic initially occurs between episodes 2 and 3; I'm extending the timeline between the episodes a bit For Fun. You'll definitely know when it catches up to episode 3, because episode 3 is Like That.
> 
> Chapters are short because again, this thing was originally constructed to be one big wall of text.
> 
> Anyways, that all the housekeeping I got SO! Let's get right down to it!

When Giuliano awoke, he didn’t immediately realize that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong. He was in a room he didn't recognize, sure, but waking up in strange rooms wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him— especially after going on a bender like the one he had apparently pulled the night before.

So! It was completely reasonable and not at all pathetic that he didn’t realize that he wasn’t standing at his normal height. Or that his teeth felt a little strange. Or that his whole body felt familiar but... off. Some part of him definitely acknowledged all of these things, they just didn't register as important at the moment. And hey- who could judge him for not realizing! Who had ever gotten into a situation like the one he was in?

But of course, Giuliano did eventually figure it out. He’d be the first to admit that he could have handled it better, but in his defense the revelation had been quite a shock. 

So: after finally rolling out of an unfamiliar bed, he realized that he needed to find something to wear. Whichever woman he had gone home with the night before was nowhere to be seen, and neither were his clothes. He couldn’t very well travel the streets of Florence in a nightgown, so he scanned the room he was in for anything to throw on. 

The first thing he noticed was that the room was spotless. It was immaculately clean, and sparse— especially considering the decoration on the walls and ceiling. The Mystery Woman he had gone home with was rich. Never let it be said that a Medici couldn't identify wealth when he saw it. Strange then, that the room was so... absent of things.

Somewhat intrigued by the mystery, Giuliano got up and decided to snoop. Was it polite? No, but neither was taking a man’s clothes from him while he slept. And who had changed him into a nightgown? As drunk as he most certainly got last night, putting on a nightgown in someone else's house was not something he thought he'd do.

His eyes darted to a closet, and he decided to head over there. Perhaps the dresses inside would clue him into whoever he scored last night. Frankly he was a bit bothered, he liked to mess around sure, but he wasn’t the sort of man who led a girl on and then forgot her name. So the fact that he couldn’t even remember the face of the girl he went home with was making Giuliano rather uncomfortable.

Perhaps as he walked, he might have noticed that the angles of everything felt a bit off. But he didn’t notice, and he was in an unfamiliar room anyways. Perhaps the pitch of the grunt he made as he stretched his back would have given it away had he been paying attention, but no. Who paid attention to the pitch of their own voice? And so, it was not his body that gave away the fact that he wasn’t in his own. It was the contents of the unassuming wooden closet he wanted to snoop in.

When he opened the closet and started looking through it, the very first thing he noticed was that everything in the thing was hung and folded very, very neatly. The second thing? There was not a single woman’s garment in the whole closet. It was all men’s clothes. And not just ANY man’s clothes.

What the fuck?

His eyes widened and he scanned every article of clothing, growing more concerned as he went. Eventually, he pulled out a vest he knew he recognized from the Signori: it was a distinct shade of green and it sure wasn’t his. It was Francesco de’ Pazzi’s vest.

Hold on. Hold on just a minute here.

What.

...And it was at that exact moment that everything started piecing itself together: the strange shape of his hands, the aches from bruises that were not his own, even the weight of the hair on his head!

He needed to find a mirror.

He dashed over to the lonely dresser in the corner of the room and grabbed the small, polished-bronze mirror propped against the wall. His hair was dark and stringy and falling in his face, his eyes were brown and wide open, and his jawline, which had always been strong, was now lethal.

He dropped the mirror and stumbled backwards. This could not be happening, it made no sense. And yet, it was true. The night previous, Giuliano de' Medici went to sleep in his own bed (as he highly doubted he went out on the town like he previously assumed), and that morning, he woke up in the body of Francesco de’ Pazzi.

Giuliano felt like screaming.

—-—

When Francesco awoke, he realized immediately that something was horribly, terribly wrong. The very first give away had been the ceiling. He opened his eyes, and knew immediately that he wasn’t in a room he recognized. It put him immediately on edge.

The second thing he noticed was the lack of pain in his side and shoulders. He had aches in other places, but he had been bowled over in a joust two days ago, and that sort of bruising didn’t heal itself overnight. So, it was very easy for him to conclude that something strange had happened to him.

He stood up from his bed (another oddity: it was far to comfortable) and decided to look around. The quicker he could figure out where he was, the quicker he could resolve whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

The mystery room was, in Francesco’s humble opinion, a bit of a disaster. Not in the sense that clothes were strewn across the floor, or that dirt had been tracked in. No, the room was messy in the sense that so much STUFF had been accumulated inside. It was quite frankly, overwhelming.

He turned and looked at some of the stuff, trying to get a sense of wherever it was he had found himself. Bits and baubles were stacked on shelves, a book or two leaned precariously on a desk. A jousting lance— somewhat familiar to him— was leaned against a lightly frescoed wall.

Ok. Ok he definitely recognized that jousting lance from somewhere (who kept a jousting lance in their room?).

He approached it cautiously and as he moved he felt... off. Something about his steps— his gait?— felt strange. So strange, that he abandoned his scrutiny of the lance and looked over to his own body and—

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

This was NOT his body. He did not recognize this body. The skin was a slightly different shade than his own, and the hair was— his hands went to his head and he frantically brought a bang down to his face. Blond. He was blond. Francesco de’ Pazzi was CERTAINLY not a blond.

Ok so maybe he was freaking out a bit.

He needed more answers, he needed to understand what was going on. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Ok. He needed to keep his head about this, he needed to find something identifying— the window. Perhaps he’d recognize the street and then be able to extrapolate his position from there.

He strode to the window and looked out. The street was busy and loud. He craned his neck out and looked at the building itself. It was familiar, so so familiar. Familiar in the same way the jousting lance had been, but even more so. He knew this building, if only he could just remember—

Wait.

Wait...

This couldn't be happening.

Francesco stumbled back from the window and felt his breath shorten. No, no he couldn’t be. It was impossible. This whole situation was already impossible, but where he was? WHO he suspected that he was? That wasn’t- it didn't make sense! He was losing it, he had to be, but his senses— his memories— weren't lying.

He turned and looked around again. The lance, he knew it now. The way the room stunk of wealth— that made sense. The location of the building on the street? That was the lynchpin of this whole situation. Because he definitely knew where he was now. Francesco de’ Pazzi had gone to bed in his Uncle's home, but somehow woke up in the Palazzo de Medici. But it was so much worse than that, because there was only one blond who would have a room in the Medici family home. Somehow, he was in the body of Lorenzo’s brother Giuliano. A man he had gotten beaten in the streets not three months prior.

He would have screamed if he didn’t think it’d bring visitors and attention he 100% did not want.


	2. Oh God. The Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francesco and Giuliano attempt to get used to their new realities. Oh no. Siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with the canon timeline: ignore little mistakes if you see them! I'm here for a good time not a long time.

Giuliano was not freaking out. He was the picture of calm. He was so unbelievably calm and composed that someone far away would likely mistake him for a statue. He was totally fine!

...Ok that was a lie he was hyperventilating. In his defense, who wouldn't be hyperventilating when waking up in the body of their least favorite person on earth? How had this happened? How could he REVERSE this from happening? Was he- Giuliano's actual body- ok? Was Francesco in HIS body?

He suddenly froze up and shook his head violently. Absolutely not, he would not even consider such a thing. Existing(?) in Francesco’s body was already horrifying enough, the Pazzi existing in his? Pretending to be Giuliano? Now that was the stuff of nightmares. He absolutely needed to stop thinking about that right now before he threw up.

He made a noise in his throat, and jumped at the pitch that came out. Wow he was not used to this— did not want to BECOME used to this.

Time to take matters into his own hands and figure out what was going on.

He put on an outfit he recognized, it was the one Francesco had worn the day the man had him beaten up in the street. He would have put a look of his own together, but until he understood exactly what was happening, he really didn’t want to mess something up. It would be safer to try and match Francesco's mannerisms than throw everyone off and get himself (Francesco?) declared a lunatic or something. So: he put on Francesco's most memorable look.

After getting dressed and checking himself over in the mirror, he cautiously left his room and peered down the hall. Oh great. He didn’t know the layout of Palazzo de Pazzi. Well— how hard could it be. He confidently chose a random direction and walked down it with purpose. Confidence was key, right?

As he meandered, he noted a few things very quickly: one, the Pazzi residence was... a bit dreary. It had all the staples of a great house: The frescos were nice, he spotted a gorgeous tapestry, and the windows were open; but unlike Palazzo de Medici, this place was lacking something. Warmth, maybe. He wasn’t an expert, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The second thing he noticed was that Francesco was SHORT. He hadn’t really noticed it when they confronted each other, especially due to how imposing Francesco could seem, but it was undeniable now. The man was shorter than Giuliano, and thus the angle at which he was seeing everything was off. It led to an acute sense of dizziness, but not enough to effect his outward bearing (he hoped).

He got to the end of the hall and realized that it was set up to filter into the inner courtyard. A similar trick was used in the layout of his own home, so at least he wouldn’t get lost again (did it count as lost if he only had to turn one corner?).

As he was stepping out into the sunlight, a hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“Sorry!” Guglielmo de’ Pazzi apologized with his hands in the air.

Giuliano felt his brain short circuit. Oh god Guglielmo. Guglielmo existed, and thought he was Francesco. He was going to have to interact with the Pazzi family and treat them like Francesco would, lest he be scrutinized and declared delusional (maybe he was delusional, this whole situation was outlandish at best).

Still a bit disoriented, he aimed what he hoped was a brotherly smile at Guglielmo and greeted him. The other man smiled at him (ah ha! He didn't sense that anything was amiss!) and gestured for Giuliano to follow. Giuliano did exactly that, falling in a step behind the Pazzi so as not to give away the look of ‘internal panic’ that he was sure was written all across his face.

Guglielmo didn’t seem to notice anything wrong (good), and started talking at Francesco like this was all part of his usual morning routine. “—and then Uncle told me yesterday that one of us would need to write a letter to Salviati soon regarding the pope’s appointment and the Medici debts—“

Giuliano jumped at hearing his last name. “Huh?” he said, feeling like he was in a daze.

Guglielmo turned back to him with a raised brow. “Salviati. Pope appointment. Medici debts. Lorenzo is heading to Rome right now. Are you feeling alright, brother?” he asked. Giuliano was NOT feeling all right, but he could hardly say that, so he nodded.

“Weird night,” he mumbled in lieu of an explanation.

Guglielmo gave him a scrutinizing look, and said something about how ‘it was about time he got out on the town’, but aside from that comment he let the conversation drop. He then led Giuliano into the dining hall, where bread and wine was already on the table. Giuliano felt his (Francesco’s?) stomach growl, and sat down to eat.

As he sat, his brain kicked back into gear and he noticed that Guglielmo hadn’t touched a thing on his plate. Now, as was previously established, Giuliano wasn’t always the most observant guy. This however, seemed somewhat important. The Pazzi had stacked a few slices of bread on his plate, but he hadn’t touched the wine and he was watching the door like he was waiting for someone else.

In the Medici household, breakfast was always an interesting part of the morning. His mother always did her best to the whole family together at least three times a week, but between the Bank, Lorenzo and Giuliano’s own strange schedules, and whatever it was Bianca got up to in the day, it was common for breakfast to be a sort of come-and-go affair. Family time would then be reestablished at dinner. That did not seem to be the case at Palazzo de Pazzi, so he carefully did Not start to eat.

The person the brothers (because that’s what Giuliano’s body was to Guglielmo. For all intents and purposes he was Francesco to the man) were waiting on soon made his presence felt. Giuliano felt his fists tighten as the slimy bastard known as Jacobo de’ Pazzi glided into the room with an insufferable expression on his face.

The man barely spared a glance to Guglielmo, instead focusing his impressive stare onto Giuliano for an uncomfortable amount of time. Just as Giuliano felt he had been somehow found out by the imposing man, Jacobo laughed suddenly and poured himself a glass of wine.

“It’s truly good that you’re back in Florence, nephew,” he said, biting into bread. Giuliano nodded, unsure of what Francesco would say in this situation. That was kind of the problem: for all that he and Francesco antagonized each other, Giuliano truly barely knew the man. That made this whole game of impersonation very, very stressful and very, very difficult.

He discreetly glanced over at Guglielmo who had just poured himself some wine, and took the bottle from him when it was offered. After pouring his own glass, he sipped it cautiously. Pazzi breakfast was very... quiet. He wasn’t saying anything, and neither was Guglielmo. Jacobo was just watching them both.

At some point, after Giuliano has finished all of his bread and most of his wine, Jacobo called his name. Or rather, he called Francesco’s name and Giuliano was forced to respond to it.

“Francesco. I want you writing a letter to Salviati in Rome. I told your brother this yesterday, but the situation is becoming more complex and you’re the one with a better grasp on Roman politics,” Jacobo said.

Giuliano felt his stomach drop. He had to write the letter? Roman politics? This was wildly out of his wheelhouse.

“Yes uncle,” he replied with a forced grin on his face.

Jacobo narrowed his eyes, “what’s with that look? Are you not up to the task?” he asked. Based on the man’s tone of voice, that last question was not optional.

“I am up to the task,” he said while screaming internally. What had he gotten himself into? How had he gotten himself into it? He didn’t want to help the Pazzi! He wouldn’t help the Pazzi? How did he not not help the Pazzi while looking like he was helping the Pazzi? Fuck that— he didn't know anything about Rome!

“Good. I’ll arrange for a messenger to pick it up and deliver it later this afternoon. Disappoint me and you will not enjoy the consequences,” Jacobo was saying. Wow, threatening much? Giuliano wanted to tell the man to chill out, but he was certain that would go poorly. Therefore, he just nodded, it seemed neutral enough.

Jacobo looked to Guglielmo next, “You. I need you at the bank today,” he said. Guglielmo nodded, and that was that. Jacobo got up from his seat, slammed down his glass and nodded to both of them and walking out of the dining hall.

Giuliano looked over at Guglielmo, who had a weird, somewhat somber expression on his face.

“Guglielmo?” he asked, still not ready to jump off the mental cliff of calling the Pazzi ‘brother’. Guglielmo looked over at him with a furrowed brow.

“Does he talk to you like that often?” he asked.

Giuliano didn’t know what to do. He was genuinely way out of his depth, and he knew nothing of the Pazzi family dynamics. He certainly didn’t know what Francesco and Jacobo were up to beyond ‘bad for me and my family’.

“Uh,” he managed to say.

Guglielmo continued to look at him, but didn’t press on his original question. He finished his last slice of bread and pointed to Giuliano. 

“You are keeping things from me. I’ll drop the Jacobo stuff, but don’t think for a second that I don’t know about the other thing,” he said.

Giuliano, for the third or fourth time that morning, just stared. The Pazzi was clearly eluding to something FRANCESCO knew about, but he wasn’t Francesco! He had no idea what Guglielmo was talking about!

Guglielmo sat back, “I can see that you’re still playing dumb. Fine. Make it like that,” he said.

Giuliano wanted to scream. He had no clue what was happening, and frankly? He was overwhelmed.

“I’m going to go write that letter,” he said, mostly to stop this breakfast from hell. Guglielmo put his hands up but didn’t protest as Giuliano left the room.

Instead of heading back to Francesco’s room, be turned 90 degrees and headed for the front door. It was time for answers. Answer one? Where was his ACTUAL body, and how was he going to get back to it?

——

This was a nightmare, it simply had to be a nightmare. He could not be in the body of Giuliano de’ Medici, it wasn’t POSSIBLE, It made no sense.

Francesco took a deep, calming breath and tried not to think about how this set of lungs couldn’t take a breath as big as he was used to. Ok. It was still possible that he wasn’t Giuliano. Besides the fact that it made no sense, he hadn’t yet actually seen his face in a mirror. Obviously, he and denial were old friends.

Frankly, this could all be an elaborate prank (and he elected to ignore the fact that he didn’t know anyone who would prank him like this, prank him at all)! He paced over to the distressingly crowded dresser and started looking for any sort of mirror. His eyes skimmed past the book stack about to fall, and he couldn’t help himself— he righted them before continuing his search.

No mirror. Absurd. Giuliano always looked well kept enough, he had to have a mirror around this place somewhere. Francesco’s mouth tightened (oh the teeth. His palate was all wrong) and he opened the drawers, frantically looking for ANYTHING that could help him.

A knock at the door startled him away from the desk and he fell backwards.

“Brother? Are you alright in there?” a voice— that was Bianca de’ Medici, fuck— asked.

His eyes widened and he swallowed. What was he supposed to say to that? What could he say? He wasn’t Giuliano, but saying that while looking like he did would have... poor consequences.

He clenched his jaw, “I’m fine, what is it?”

A scoff, “I heard that noise. You better not have a girl back there with you! Just because mother’s gone doesn’t mean you can start fooling around in the house.”

“Bold words, coming from the girl making eyes at my b—“ he froze, “Guglielmo de’ Pazzi!”

Dead silence.

Francesco kicked himself mentally, why on earth had he said that? They hadn't even been having an argument! Maybe it was because he was in Giuliano's body? Oh lord, was he catching Giuliano's stupid? He grabbed his head dramatically and prayed that it was not so.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and Bianca de’ Medici stormed into the room with a very unpleasant expression on her face. Francesco made a noise and reached for the blanket on his bed, covering himself. He had a shift on, but there was a woman in his room now, and he was raised to have manners.

“What do you think you know?” Bianca hissed, coming right up to Francesco and grabbing him by the shift's collar. He shrank back instantly and rose the hand not holding the blanket.

“Come on, it’s obvious,” he said, hoping that it was. It definitely was from Guglielmo’s side of things; Francesco had known something was up less than a week after getting back to Florence. One afternoon spent trailing his brother had answered any questions he might have had. He hadn’t SAID anything to his brother though. So why did he decide, out of nowhere, to confront a Medici? 

Bianca released his collar and took a step back, face red. “Is it really obvious?” she asked.

Francesco shrugged, “Maybe don’t kiss at the piazza disguised only in a clearly expensive cape?” he trailed off.

Bianca made a face at him and stalked back over to the doorway, “Are you going to tell mother and Lorenzo?” she asked in a small voice.

It was the sort of voice reserved for family. A level of vulnerability that Bianca would not have ever shown him had she not thought he was Giuliano. Francesco didn’t like hearing it: it felt like a breach of privacy, it was a voice certainly not for him. That said, right now in this moment she believed he WAS Giuliano, so he would do the right thing.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said seriously.

Bianca gave him a long, final look. She seemed to notice his sincerity, and thus nodded. On her way out of the room, she turned one more time with a relieved grin on her face.

“Thank you. Let's never discuss this. By the way— breakfast is ready,” she said.

Francesco nodded and watched the door a few seconds after she closed it. This was so wrong. It wasn’t just the body— this whole situation was so, so wrong. He shouldn’t know how Giuliano kept his room. He shouldn’t know the tone Bianca took when she was unsure. These were things that Giuliano knew, they shouldn’t be things Francesco was privy to. It was a breach of trust, as unwanted as it was.

He got up stiffly and moved to the closet, putting together an outfit he thought Giuliano might wear. The Medici’s wardrobe was a cluttered as his room, in that messy but clean way it was. Not only that, it was colorful. Francesco himself had one or two pieces of clothing that could be classified ‘eye catching’, so to see a closet with nothing but color was a bit daunting.

Eventually, he felt put together enough and exited the room, heading for the stairs to the dining room. As he walked, he felt his throat go tight as he took in the sights of the Medici family home. He knew this place, knew it well despite the years. He and Lorenzo had run up and down these halls, once upon a time.

He swallowed and entered the dining room. Bianca was already there, eating a slice of bread and holding a piece of paper close to her chest. She gave him a suspicious glare, and he assumed that the paper must have been a love letter from Guglielmo. Francesco had seen his elder brother writing in the middle of the night a few times before, so seeing Bianca’s glare he rolled his eyes. Hopefully it came across as wary but approving. He wasn't really sure how to act as an older sibling.

He sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. He knew that Madonna Medici and Lorenzo were in Rome on bank business. Frankly that was the best case scenario for him, he doubted he could impersonate a mother's child right in front of her. As for Lorenzo... Just no. No, it was very good that Lorenzo wasn't around. He had enough trouble acting normal around the man in standard conditions, he'd give himself away if he tried being Giuliano in front of him.

Speaking of Giuliano: Where was Giuliano?

If he was in the Medici's body, then where had the Medici gone? And what had caused this? Was it all just an intensely specific and vivid dream? And what about Francesco's own body?

Oh god. His body.

If he was in Giuliano's, then that meant that just maybe... No. No surely not. But now he couldn't stop thinking about it, and the more he thought about it the more plausible it seemed.

He forced himself to stay seated as he became more and more horrified by his possible revelation. Apparently his composure was shot enough that Bianca noticed something was amiss. She rose an eyebrow and called Giuliano's name in a concerned manner.

Francesco stood up, his breakfast forgotten.

"I have to go do something," he said eloquently as he unsteadily walked out of the room. He heard Bianca call after him, but he ignored her. He had to go find himself. If he was right, if Giuliano de' Medici of all people was walking around in his body, well. It would be bad. Very bad.

Time to go hunt himself down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten Sandro, he's just vibing right now.
> 
> [My Twitter, if you have an interest](https://twitter.com/macmonky)
> 
> Goofy Google search from this chapter:  
> Renaissance breakfast?  
> answer: bread and wine! I probably could have guessed that  
> Who delivered mail?  
> answer: just like. Anyone. Pay a wandering monk or a courier and hope for the best, fellas
> 
> \----  
> ...And here are the notes from yesterday, they're all messed up now that I posted chapter two I'm :^S  
> Goofy Google search from this chapter:  
> Renaissance Pajamas?  
> The answer: people had shifts,, little nightgowns :)  
> \----
> 
> Gonna be a few days before the next chapter, lots of dialogue to edit BUT the clowns Finally Meet!


	3. GET OUT OF MY BODY RIGHT NOOOWWW!!!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last! The clowns meet. It goes better than anyone could have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was running way long so I've split it: Giuliano's half today, Francesco's in tomorrow or in two days.
> 
> I got nothing else, so... HERE WE GO!

Giuliano was a man on a mission. He had to know if his body was ok, and how on earth he was going to get back into it. Being Francesco had been nothing but a nightmare, and he was very much done with it.

He left the Pazzi residence and marched purposefully towards the piazza. While walking, he mulled over his current problem: Obviously, he was himself mentally, but his body was somewhere else. Possible outcome: his soul had been misplaced, and now a fake but identical version of him was wandering around in his body. Outlandish, but considering his situation, he couldn’t count it out. Fake him, if he existed, would be at the piazza. Because real Giuliano would totally be there on a normal morning. 

God this was confusing.

He stumbled over a curb and almost slammed into a woman carrying a bottle of wine. “Watch it!” she snapped, looking up into Giuliano’s eyes with a scowl. Just as quickly as she turned, she seemed to recognize him (Francesco?) and her face fell. “Oh,” she trailed off awkwardly, “Signore Pazzi, my apologies,” she squeaked before briskly walking off.

Giuliano watched her go with a frown and touched his (Francesco’s??) face. Either he was just impressively scary today, or Francesco got his kicks intimidating the locals. Actions he definitely wouldn’t put it past the Pazzi; that whole family seemed to delight in causing problems and being assholes.

… And now people thought he was Francesco. Great.

Honestly, Giuliano didn’t think he had it in him to be horrifically rude to everyone he came across; hopefully a resting scowl would keep the Florentines believing that he was definitely Francesco de’ Pazzi, and thus allow him to move around the city without scrutiny.

That thought in his head, Giuliano steeled himself and kept moving towards the piazza. He had to take a moment to physically orient himself: the Pazzi residence was off a different road than his own home. It was closer to the Piazza della Signoria though, and Giuliano studiously ignored his admittedly petty jealousy towards that fact. At least the Medici home was closer to the duomo. Probably. Actually— Giuliano squinted and looked over the skyline to the Dome. Hm. It looked like the two houses were nearly equidistant on that front. But perhaps the—

He smacked his own head and shook it violently. Who was he kidding? This was an unnecessary and dumb argument (that he was having with, of all people, himself), and beside the point anyway. Body. Find body. Hopefully there wasn’t a double of him running around having stolen his life. OK.

He finally reached the piazza and wasn’t surprised to see that it was fairly crowded that morning. It was big enough and L-shaped enough that he’d actually have to move through it to see if his body was around, and so he stalked in towards the center with his senses on alert. 

While moving, he couldn’t help but notice the looks he was receiving. As a Medici, he usually got smiles or heckles depending on whether or not the masses liked his family that week. As Francesco, he got mostly wary silence or— weirdly enough— gleeful grins. That second set of people confused him, until he remembered that the Pazzi Bank was currently giving out ludicrously low interest rate loans. Giuliano was no Lorenzo: he wasn’t a banking wizard, but even he could tell that there was something up with that.

Maybe while he was in this nightmare, he could do some snooping on that front—

WAIT.

THERE.

Giuliano had to get on his tiptoes to be sure (how Francesco lived like this and maintained his dignity, he did not know), but yes, there was his own blond hair, right across the way. 

All decorum forgotten, he shoved a colorfully dressed man aside and shouted “Me!” as he ran towards himself. The other Giuliano’s shoulders tensed, and he turned towards the sound. Upon seeing Giuliano running towards him, the other Giuliano’s face adopted an impressive scowl and he pointed dramatically at him and shouted “You!”

Oh that look was unique. Only one man glared at Giuliano like that. The good news: There officially was no chance of another Giuliano running around having stolen his life. The terrible news? That was definitely Francesco de’ Pazzi in his body, an obvious conclusion that he had ignored based on how horrifying a thought it was to contemplate.

“What have you done to me, you Medi–” Francesco’s words seemed to be caught in his throat, and Giuliano watched as he realized they had an audience, “Pazzi bastard?” he said, just as furious as before, but with his voice cracking on his own last name.

Giuliano grimaced and grabbed his own arm (Francesco’s arm for the moment), pulling himself (Francesco) towards a side street where they could hopefully confront each other in peace. Francesco seemed to realize this, because he did not put up a fight when being dragged away.

Eventually, Giuliano was pretty sure they were isolated enough, and he immediately turned and had to look up into his own face (oh, oh how that hurt). Francesco looked absolutely livid.

“OK, Medici. Joke’s over. What the hell did you do to me?” he hissed.

Giuliano blinked. Francesco had implied foul play back at the piazza, but he had kind of assumed it was in a ‘keeping up appearances' way. Obviously this mess wasn’t Giuliano’s fault, it was Francesco’s fault!

He said as much: “I didn’t do shit! This is obviously your scheme!” and Francesco looked positively murderous at the claim. He roughly grabbed Giuliano by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

“I had nothing to do with this, and I want you out of my body. Now.”

Giuliano cursed Francesco’s horrible smaller body and terrible lack of muscles– he couldn’t get out of the hold. “Oh, if I could be, I’d be gone! I don’t want to be you! Who on earth would want to be you?” he shot back, gripping his body’s hand and trying to undo the fist tightened in his clothes.

Francesco leveled a glare at him. "The same could be said for you."

"Great! We agree with each other. Now that we've established that neither one of us wanted this, can you please let me go!" Giuliano said sarcastically.

Francesco clenched his jaw, but seemingly sensing honesty, let him go and took a step back. He gave Giuliano a long look. “So then what do we do? What’s going on here?” he asked.

Giuliano readjusted his collar and shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

A snort, “And I do? This is a nightmare scenario for me.”

Giuliano tried not to be offended on his own behalf. “Hey! If that’s some knock on me, then I’ll–”

“Of course it is! I do not want to be you! I have a life! I definitely can’t– oh. Oh god. Oh no,” Francesco trailed off, eye’s widening in dawning horror. 

Giuliano raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you realizing right now?”

Francesco’s face (it was Giulianos!) was pinched and he looked at Giuliano with suspicion. “Everyone thinks that you’re me. Stay out of my business,” he said.

Giuliano gave him a look and crossed his arms, “Like you have any business I’d be remotely interested in. I don’t like you, I definitely don’t want to know you,” he said, “but same rules. I don’t want your Pazzi bullshit ruining my life.”

“Glad we agree,” Francesco said.

“Good!”

“Good!”

Silence. Neither Giuliano nor Francesco seemed to know what to do now. At least he wasn’t being shoved into a wall by his own arms anymore. That had been both embarrassing and annoying. Curse his own workout regimen. The silence continured to stretch, and Giuliano turned to leave. Frankly, he didn’t want to look at himself anymore than he needed too. It was too weird.

“Wait– I do actually need to say something,” Francesco mumbled.

Giuliano turned and threw up his arms in a ‘well then speak’ sort of way. Francesco’s face (Giuliano’s!!) was tilted upwards and he seemed uncomfortable. Good. Giuliano hated that guy.

“It’s not my secret to tell, but I accidentally let it slip with your sister today and now she thinks you know. Once we figure out this body stuff, she’s still going to think you know, so I’m just going to tell you,” he said.

Giuliano nodded for him to continue. Judging on how awkward Francesco looked in his body, he assumed whatever secret it was would be good.

“Your sister and my brother are in love.”

Was that it? “I knew that already,” he said.

Francesco shot him an indecipherable look. “How’d you figure it out?”

Giuliano snorted. “They’re hardly subtle– kissing in the piazza with only an obvious blue cloak is hardly the height of secrecy,” he said.

Francesco nodded, an almost wild look in his eye. “That’s exactly what I said! I figured it out after less than a week of being back in Florence,” he said, and then pointed at him, “does Bianca also write letters in the middle of the night?” he asked.

Giuliano shrugged, holding back what– to his horror– was definitely a laugh, “I don’t go to my sister’s room at night, but it sounds plausible. Does Guglielmo do that?”

Francesco made a noise in his throat, “Yes. Frequently enough that I’ve had to warn him off, Uncle might get suspicious,” he said.

Giuliano crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of one of the buildings the duo had hidden behind. Jacobo de’ Pazzi. What a jerk. His eyes widened, wait–

“Shit! We uh– I actually need to tell you something too,” he said. Francesco looked at him and Giuliano took it as a cue to continue: “Basically, your uncle told me at breakfast today to write a letter to some guy in Rome. Something about Roman politics,” he said.

Francesco straightened up. “What’s the context?”

“See, I don’t know if I want you knowing that. Stuff that benefits you guys tends to be bad news for the Medici bank,” Giuliano said. 

He knew the Pazzi wouldn’t like that answer, but what could he say? The situation was truly a bad one: He would not do anything to hurt his family or the Bank, but doing nothing was not an option. For all intents and purposes he was Francesco right now, but still… He could not hinder his own family’s business.

Francesco seemed to understand his plight, because he didn’t snap at Giuliano or do anything dramatic like he expected. He just nodded heavily and said “You should let me write that letter.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because… It would be bad if our situation got out. Therefore, you need to tell me the things I need to do to keep up appearances, and I’ll extend you the same courtesy,” he said, giving Giuliano a look. What was it about Francesco and knowing looks? He did not want to look that hard at his own face, thank you very much.

“Keeping up appearances doesn’t mean ‘actively sabotage my own brother and Bank,” Giuliano deadpanned.

“Maybe not, but I know you already told Uncle you’d write that letter. And if you don’t, or if you don’t address the things that need to be addressed in it, he’ll know. And he’ll wonder why,” Francesco said as he narrowed his eyes.

Giuliano frowned. “I never told you I was going to actually write the letter I just told you that Jacobo asked.”

“You’re here. It’s proof enough. Now, what’s the context? I assume it’s something about your bank and the Papal Accounts?” Francesco said, waving Giuliano’s question aside.

“How’d you know that?”

“I don’t know how to say this, but,” he let his face go lax, “I do work at a rival bank, and your brother leaving for Rome with your mother isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Shut up!”

Francesco shook his head and breathed out through his nose. ‘You don’t have my handwriting, anyway. If you pen a letter to Salviati he’ll know it’s not me.”

That… was an annoyingly good point.

Giuliano ran a hand through his hair (not styled in Francesco’s usual style because who had time for that?) and gave the Pazzi a serious look, saying: “Ok. Ok fine you win you can write your letter. But that means if something comes up while you’re me, you’ll act in my– and therefore my family’s– interests. Fair?”

Francesco nodded and extended a hand. “I hate to say it but deal. Something out there, divine or devilish, has affected us. Normality is not an option, yet it is the only option.”

“I’m glad we agree.”

The duo shook hands, and Giuliano could not help but feel as if he had just made a serious mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up! Francesco has to Socialize, and Bianca learns of her engagement to Bastiano...
> 
> NOTE: both of these clowns are impressively unreliable narrators. Giuliano has a grand ole time calling Francesco short and weak in this chapter, but it's more a case of Giuliano just being really tall and a jock. Love that for him!
> 
> Goofy google search: man I had to look at florentine maps for this one! I’m sure some roads have changed, but a whole piazza isn't moving so general locations are on lock!


	4. Sandro Figures It Out Immediately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francesco and Giuliano continue to deal with their problem. A familiar face appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so it's been a minute!
> 
> In my defense the world went to absolute shit in my absence, and the farce that is society keeps getting more and more absurd.
> 
> This story is certainly not abandoned and WILL not be abandoned, but updates will happen as they happen. I'm so close to the stuff I really wanna write, so fear not friends! Goofs are coming.
> 
> Speaking of goofs... Let's begin!

Francesco was on edge. Making a deal with Giuliano de’ Medici was inevitably going to go horribly wrong, but in the moment— with the other man standing there in his body— it was all he could think of to do.

Giuliano had left Francesco in that alleyway in order to run back to the Palazzo de Pazzi and get Francesco’s seal and wax for the letter he would send to Salviati. The Medici had also vehemently asserted that he would watch Francesco write the letter, to prevent any sort of ‘funny business’.

Funny business. As if anything Francesco did wouldn’t be funny business to that man. He closed his eyes and leaned against the cool stone of the alley wall, rubbing a hand through his hair. He hated it. The whole situation, the hair on his head. It had a coarser texture to it, and it wasn’t long enough to feel like his own. 

It wasn’t his own.

He glanced back towards the mouth of the alley. The people of Florence were hustling and bustling through the streets as if nothing had been changed irrevocably overnight. For them, nothing had. What had he done to piss off God. Why had this happened to him? Was it because he had paid men to beat up Giuliano in a back alleyway not unlike the one he was currently slouching in? No, it couldn’t be that because there would be no reason to punish Giuliano in the same way.

Francesco sighed through his nose and walked out towards the throng. No use thinking on it. What had happened had happened.

He stepped out into the crowd and started ambling towards the Piazza. Giuliano would probably be pissed when he went to the alley and Francesco was gone, but frankly he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand to be alone anymore with just his thoughts. The Medici shouldn’t have any trouble finding him: he certainly didn’t seem to have a problem when he found him earlier. He’d just stand around the main square, do some people watching.

It didn’t really show (he wouldn’t let it), but Francesco hated being alone. Even if he wasn’t interacting with anyone, the steady support of _people_ in his vicinity helped keep him grounded. That’s why he liked living in Rome so much. There were so many people, but so few who knew him. There were still expectations of him— of course there were with a name like his— but they were also less intense. In Rome, he could create his own persona. Be whoever he wanted to be. In Florence, he lived in his Uncle’s shadow.

… Aaaand there he went thinking about Jacobo. Time to stop ambling and get to the Piazza before THAT thought went any further. Giuliano could complain all he wanted too, Francesco needed to be surrounded by hundreds of people loudly going about their business immediately.

He stepsided a vendor and fell into pace beside a man in an embarrassingly missized tunic. He felt the man’s eyes on him and he quickly walked ahead. Francesco didn’t particularly want to risk a confrontation with anyone who might know the body he was occupying.

He thought back to that morning, and Bianca. He shivered. It wasn’t right for him to be experiencing the Medici girl’s vulnerable moments. He felt creepy, like he was spying. He wasn’t, but that didn’t assuage his feelings in any way. He shut down that train of thought and sighed irritably as he allowed himself to be guided into the Piazza by the crowd. 

It was a nice day. The sun was high in the sky, but a slight breeze kept the air cool enough to be comfortable. Francesco loved days like this, he loved wandering around the city and listening to the people. The Piazza especially, was a place he missed while living in Rome. Rome had its own impressive areas, but the Piazza della Signoria was special.

He wandered over to his favorite shaded area and leaned against the wall. Just being here: allowing his thoughts to focus on the faces of the crowd, but wander from the heavier topics of his life, was relaxing. Or, maybe relaxing wasn’t the right word. It was a distraction. A distraction from the frankly horrifying situation he had somehow found himself in.

His jaw stiffened and he forced himself to focus on the crowd. A man was carrying a basket of fruits and almost dropped them on the uneven cobblestone. Near him, a young couple was giggling and trying to buy a flower from a merchant. Above them, a woman opened her window and yelled down at an instrumentalist below. Francesco couldn’t quite place the instrument: some kind of lute, perhaps?

He sighed and continued to watch, content. Nothing calmed his frazzled nerves quite like people watching. He got a strange look or two— presumably because people thought he was Giuliano, and apparently Giuliano was not one for people watching— but he honestly didn’t care. It was all sinking in, finally. For all intents and purposes, he WAS Giuliano. Therefore, for the moment at least, Giuliano liked people watching.

That was logic he could live with, but not logic he particularly WANTED to live with. If whatever happened didn’t reverse, what would he do? He couldn’t be Giuliano forever, he couldn’t even begin to picture that life.

And Giuliano? The actual Giuliano? No way could he handle being Francesco. Francesco had been watching him ever since the day he had him beaten. The man had a talent for dealing with people, sure, but he didn’t have the political moxie to deal with what the Pazzi family had to deal with every day. Lorenzo had it, but definitely not Giuliano.

He didn’t want to think about this. The more he let his mind wander, the worse the scenarios became. 

Suddenly, Francesco met someone’s eyes. He was so shocked by the intensity of the stare that he blinked and took an unconscious step back. This seemed to confirm something for the man, who was walking towards him with purpose.

Shit. Whoever this was (and he did look familiar— not that Francesco could place him), he clearly knew Giuliano.

Showtime.

“Giuliano! What are you doing!” the man approaching him asked in what Francesco could only describe as wary amusement.

“Huh,” he replied.

The stranger rolled his eyes and moved forward until he was standing right next to Francesco.

"It is a rare day that I see you so glum, my friend," the stranger continued.

Francesco nodded. "Right yes, I'm upset. I'm so glum right now," he parroted the other man's words, allowing his tone to be something of a whine.

The man grabbed scooped him into a one armed hug and patted his shoulder. "What's the matter, man? Tell papa Sandro all about it," he said.

Francesco opened his mouth, allowed himself a moment to say swears in his head, and just started talking. "It's my family. We've been in a bit of a rough patch ever since uh," he paused and scrambled, "the coup! The coup. My Father was so upset when Lorenzo got Sforza to leave and he took the bank," he said, praying to god that 'Sandro' didn't hear his voice crack on the word 'father'.

Sandro just sighed. "I get it man. You're right, nothing's been right since that happened."

Francesco nodded quickly. "Yes! You understand."

"I'm as happy as everyone else that your brother's in charge now, but it's been hard watching your father decine from afar. He and your mother have done so much for me."

That one threw Francesco for a loop. He didn't know specifically what that meant, but he could fake it. "My parents appreciate how you're always around," he tried, hoping it was true.

Sandro laughed. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. I sketched your mom a while back and she told me she keeps it in her desk."

So he was an artist? Interesting. "You're quite good," he said lamely.

Sandro released the stranglehold he had on Francesco and gasped mockingly. "A compliment from _the_ Giuliano de' Medici? This is a special day!"

Francesco rolled his eyes reflexively. "Oh yeah, laugh it up! You'll never get another compliment from me again."

"No! I take it all back!"

Francesco allowed himself to grin. Interacting with Sandro was similar to how he interacted with Guglielmo. With that in mind he was fairly sure he could pull this off.

... Of course that was when he saw himself across the way. Oh boy.

Sandro caught his gaze and craned his neck in the same direction. Francesco caught the exact moment he saw Giuliano (who looked, of course, like Francesco).

"Shit. It's that Pazzi again." he muttered darkly.

Francesco grunted in agreement, and it was at that moment that he realized why Sandro had been familiar. The man had tagged along with Lorenzo and Giuliano the day they confronted his Uncle about the attempt on their father's life. Great.

Giuliano saw the both of them, and started stalking towards them. Sandro stiffened at his side.

"If he comes here for a fight, we give it to him."

"He won't. He wouldn't dare," Francesco mumbled trying to subtly shoot Giuliano a 'cease and desist' sort of glare.

"That's exactly what you thought when he hired _thugs_ to beat the shit out of you!"

Before Francesco could respond, Giuliano reached them.

"You. We need to talk," he glanced at Sandro, "alone."

Sandro pushed in front of Francesco, effectively blocking him with his body. "No way am I letting you go off alone with him. Whatever it is you think he did, he didn't do it."

Giuliano made a face. It was an inelegant face, and certainly not something Francesco would pull had he been in possession of his body. "Shut up, painter. Your buddy and I have unfinished business."

"Oh, I bet! You wanna kick the shit out of him yourself, huh? Well guess what man: I won't let you try, and even if you did get him alone, Giuliano here could wreck you without your backup." Sandro smirked.

Giuliano looked touched. It was absolutely the wrong face to wear. Francesco tapped Sandro's shoulder and stepped forward: he needed to end this.

"Worry not, I can handle him."

Sandro turned to look at him, confusion alight on his face, but a snort from Giuliano grabbed both of their attention.

"Oh sound grimmer, why don't you?" Giuliano crossed his arms.

"With company like yours," Francesco grit his teeth and glared.

Giuliano laughed. "Come on. We need to do here what we came to do," he said.

Francesco stepped forward immediately, thinking about how he was going to rip into Giuliano the moment they were alone and he could criticize how bad of a job he was doing with this 'pretend you're me' thing.

A cough cut between them and the body swapped fools both turned to the sound.

“OK there is something very stupid going on here,” Sandro said flatly. Francesco blinked and looked over at Giuliano, who made a sound in the back of his throat.

“Sandro—” he tried, but the artist threw a hand up to wave him away.

“That! Pazzi, you’ve never addressed me by my name ever once in your life— I didn’t even know you knew what it was,” he said. Francesco aimed daggers at Giuliano with his eyes.

Sandro continued: “and YOU!” he said to the person he thought was Giuliano, “we have known each other practically our entire lives, and I like to think that I know how you react to things. _especially_ confrontational things. You're acting weird,” he accused.

Francesco glanced discreetly to Giuliano, who was shrugging while staring with impressive intensity. Well that was helpful. He raised an eyebrow, desperately trying to convey a question: what do we do? Giuliano grimaced and made a switcheroo motion with his hands. Francesco cocked his head, asking for clarification. Giuliano just nodded.

Well then. The plan? Convince Sandro that things were totally fine by pretending to be each other extra hard. OK. They could pull this off. In sync, the duo turned back to the artist, who looked even more unimpressed now.

Francesco cleared his throat and took a step forward with his most confident grin (project project project). He opened his arms and made the most dramatic threat he could.

At that same moment, Giuliano was smirking in a way Francesco could only describe as malicious. He was also leaning back just a bit, seemingly trying to give himself an air of haughty arrogance, but he clearly didn’t do such a move often and it just looked pathetic.

“Ha ha! Medici scum! You're lucky that your friend stopped you from following me! I am a Pazzi! I will steal your very nice bank, and the money will be mine!” Giuliano crowed. Francesco flinched. The idiot was overdoing it, Francesco would never be so open with his dislike.

Sandro shot Giuliano a look. Giuliano stared back. Sandro crossed his arms.

“Ok. One of you needs to explain to me what’s going on because all of my conclusions are dumb and impossible,” he said.

Giuliano, not ready to give up the plot, scoffed. “Explain what! It’s a perfectly normal day!” he said.

“Giuliano, I know that’s you. I don’t know what’s going on here or how you did it, but I’m not an idiot,” he said.

Giuliano froze and glanced over at Francesco. Francesco, recognizing that they were caught, made a frustrated noise in his throat and grabbed both men by the arm and dragged them into— hilariously enough— the same alleyway as their first confrontation.

He released them and sat down on a crate that had been discarded. Sandro looked incredibly unimpressed.

Francesco glanced over at Giuliano. As far as he was concerned, the artist was HIS friend, so he could explain. Luckily, Giuliano seemed to gather this from the look he was giving him, as the man stepped forward and made a series of hand movements.

“OK. Look man. Neither one of us have a single clue how this happened, but yeah you’re right,” he gestured quickly between Francesco and himself, “we switched bodies in the middle of the night, as far as we can both tell," he said.

Giuliano turned his head and looked over at Francesco for confirmation, and he could only shrug. They hadn’t actually discussed WHEN the fated swap had happened, but considering he had gone to sleep as himself and woken up in this nightmare, ‘the middle of the night’ seemed right to him.

Sandro watched this silent conversation and cleared his throat loudly. In sync, Francesco and Giuliano turned to him. “So what is the plan here? Because as evidenced by your horrible acting, you guys are going to get caught VERY quickly if left to your own devices,” he said.

Francesco rolled his eyes. "I had you going."

"But I knew something was wrong!"

"You didn't realize the extent of the wrongness until _he_ showed up."

The duo turned to look at Giuliano who threw his hands up in frustration. "I wasn't that bad!"

Francesco shook his head. "I managed to get past Bianca this morning, but if you’re seriously acting like you just did at the Palazzo, around _my family_ , you are going to get caught VERY quickly” he said flatly.

Giuliano scratched the back of his head (it looked so strange, seeing his own face make that expression), “In my defence, I act stupid around Sandro. It’s what I do,” he said.

Francesco sighed and Sandro stifled a laugh, but no one said anything further.

Predictably, the three men fell into an awkward silence. To be fair, the situation was just strange enough to be conversation stopping, but that didn’t help the weird energy in the alleyway. Francesco couldn't stand it.

He looked over at Sandro. “So. What are you going to do?”

Sandro stared at the unfortunate rivals calculatingly. “Nothing. This is certainly a uh,” he paused, “bizarre situation, but if I ran through the streets saying that you two had switched bodies, the people would laugh me out of town,” he said.

Francesco nodded. That made sense, and was part of the reason they were keeping up a ruse in the first place.

Sandro continued: “Plus, Giuliano- you’re my best friend. I don’t want to endanger you in any way. This whole situation is decidedly bad, and if you’re caught in it, there could be trouble,” he said.

Francesco scoffed internally. 'Could be'. There _would_ be trouble. Lots of it, some of it potentially life threatening. Who knew how people might react if this came out? How his Uncle might react? It would absolutely be bad.

Sandro then looked over at Francesco, not done. “And you. Pazzi, you are in the body of my friend. He needs that back, so I guess I’ll have to help you both out in service of keeping him safe.”

Francesco stared. Sandro seriously wanted to help? Him? Sure it was by proxy, but it was still slightly surreal. People didn’t really help him with things (though to be fair, it wasn’t like he usually asked).

Sandro seemed to gather something from the expression on his face because he gave him a look that Francesco wasn’t quick enough to decipher. He then turned back to Giuliano.

“Dude. You have GOT to work on your acting, at least I thought Francesco was actually you for like a solid minute and a half” he critiqued.

Giuliano rolled his eyes. “And I already TOLD you- being around you specifically makes me dumb. I’ve already had breakfast with Guglielmo and Jacobo, and neither of them suspected that something was up!” he said.

“And what a miracle that is!” Sandro exclaimed.

Francesco cleared his throat and the others turned to him. “If you don’t talk much and agree with everything he says, Jacobo probably won’t notice anything wrong. Guglielmo will be onto you soon though, so if you interact with him just look,” he paused, trying to think about how he himself usually acted around his brother, “stressed, is probably the best bet,” he said.

Giuliano laughed. “Well i AM stressed, so that should be fine.”

Francesco made a face at him, but the three men were finally starting to look a little more relaxed. Sandro clapped them both on the back.

“Well. It has been weird. So very weird. But I have a muse to go paint, and you two have business and such to conduct I suspect, so I’ll leave you now,” he said.

“Muse? Wait! Not Simonetta Vespucci!” Giuliano gasped. Francesco glanced over at him in confusion. Vespucci?

Sandro laughed. “That’s right! She’s agreed to let me paint her,” he paused, a dreamy look in his eye, “I’m going to make the world understand that she’s the most beautiful woman on Earth,” he mumbled, "I see the face of god in her eyes."

Giuliano looked offended. “Man! You KNOW I was wooing her!”

“Like you’re going to have an easy time of that when you’re not even YOU,” Sandro smirked.

“Don’t remind me!”

Francesco rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back. “Should I know who this woman is?”

Judging on the lovesick-but-enraged faces of both men, that was the wrong question to ask.

“She’s beautiful, I will immortalize her on canvas,” Sandro swooned.

“She’s literally the most gorgeous woman alive,” Giuliano added.

Francesco nodded. “So she’s beautiful and gorgeous. Really helpful description.”

Giuliano made a face at him but turned back to Sandro. “Don’t paint her till I’m back in my body! I can’t woo her looking like THIS!”

“I already agreed to meet her this afternoon, I should actually start heading over there now.”

“This isn’t fair! God or- or the Devil or something switched my body! I had so many ideas to woo her!” Giuliano bemoaned.

Francesco raised an eyebrow, curious. He didn't know this woman, but he knew an opportunity when he heard it: “Sounds like you honestly think you have a chance with her,” he smirked.

Giuliano gave him a furious glare (wow was he (Francesco) really that scary when he glared?). “I don’t want this shit from you right now! I’m deeply stressed and upset!”

Francesco raised his hands in surrender. Clearly the issue of Simonet-something Vespucci was a bigger deal than he would have ever made it.

Sandro laughed and left the alley. Francesco followed him with his gaze until the artist disappeared back into the busy Piazza.

He turned to Giuliano. Now: Business. “We need to meet somewhere better than an alleyway. Where do you suggest?”

Giuliano made a face. “Not your place. Your uncle freaks me out.”

“He freaks everyone out.”

“We could use the back entrance of my family’s Palazzo? No one will bother us if we get to my rooms?” Giuliano offered.

Francesco opened his mouth to reject such a foolishly easy place to get caught, but then he paused. Giuliano would certainly know every nook and cranny of the Palazzo de’ Medici, and Francesco— judging on his morning— remembered the place well enough to sneak around. 

Hm. Maybe it could work.

Giuliano raised an eyebrow. “In or out, Pazzi?”

Francesco gave him a look but nodded. “I’m in. Let’s go five minutes apart and reconvene at the servant’s entrance before someone sees us.”

"You're on. See you soon."

The accord struck, the duo shook hands. Francesco felt deja vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *violently rips the official timeline to shreds* my house now.
> 
> I think I've said it, but this au is currently between a mash up of episode 2 and 3. I put the joust before Lorenzo's trip to Rome, but Piero isn't dead yet. Instead of the joust helmet it's gonna be something like 'Look I have a Wife Now' that Piero misses. Giuliano and Sandro have already met Simonetta, and Simonetta has agreed to be painted but obviously the wedding hasn't happened.
> 
> Goofy Google search of the chapter: I looked up the layout of the Medici Palazzo to make sure it had a back door for the clowns to rendezvous at. It does!
> 
> See you guys in the next one!! Bianca will ACTUALLY appear next time, I wanted to get to her but Sandro got away from me! He wanted to talk so bad.


End file.
